𝐜𝐰 : public space ⸝⸝ making out ⸝⸝ fingering ⸝⸝ get caught
"Come on, just a tiny little kiss." Percy's breath ghosted against your cheek in the pitch black.
What were the chances of ending up with Percy Jackson, your friend with benefits, at the same party, with a group of mutual friends, and in a small closet after playing spin the bottle for about 10 minutes?
No one knew about your relation, not even a whisper, and you'd kept it that way for good reason: you were Luke's sister, and Percy would die if he found out.
But you both end up here, in a closet, by sheer dumb luck, or maybe the universe's twisted sense of humor considering your brother was the one hosting this stupid party.
You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the thump of his heart under your palm. "Percy, no. We've been making out way too much lately.. And Luke's right outside, if he finds out—"
"But he won't." "Percy, no."
"This game gives us a pass, though. No consequences. It's like... fooling around? One kiss, and I swear I'll behave." His fingers ghosted your arm, light as sea foam, but you knew better.
You shook your head, but your resolve started to waver. " We can't, what if someone hears?"
Gods, you knew him too well. Percy Jackson didn't do half-measures; one peck would spiral into devouring your mouth, and his hands mapping your body.
And Luke? Your brother was probably nursing a drink right outside, ready to play overprotective big sibling the moment the doors opened.
A soft pout formed on his lips— you could sense it more than see it, that adorable weapon he deployed when words failed.
"Please?" he murmured, voice dipping into boyish vulnerability.
Your resolve cracked like dry earth with a sigh of surrender as you leaned forward, your lips meeting his in a gentle, chaste brush. Soft and tentative—just as it was supposed to be. But Percy sighed into it, his mouth opening just enough to deepen the contact, his tongue flicking out to taste your bottom lip.
Of course, he got handsy.
His palms started sliding down your sides, thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts through the top. Percy was greedy, since you both started kissing were no one could see he got pretty confident.
One hand cupped your ass, giving it a squeeze that made you gasp into his mouth, while the other ventured higher, now circling your nipple.
He didn't strip you—thank the gods for small mercies—but he devoured your mouth like it was ambrosia, with little murmurs slipping out between kisses. "I love you," he whispered against your lips, the words muffled and fervent.
You liked kissing him, making out with him and feeling the way his body pressed flush against yours, his warm skin making the closet feel like a pressure cooker. He was so close, his erection straining against his jeans, nudging your thigh.
"Percy," you breathed a little protest, but he just grinned into the kiss, nipping your lower lip.
"Let me touch," he whispered, voice rough with want. "It's dark in here— no one will know... I just want to feel you, make you feel good."
His hand trailed down, bold and insistent, slipping under the hem of your skirt. You shivered as his fingers danced along your thigh, inching toward the edge of your panties. He hooked a finger under the fabric, brushing the soft folds of your pussy, but paused, a low hum of surprise in his throat.
"Not wet yet? Let me fix that."
You knew what he was plotting—that devious glint in his eye, even in the dark. He wanted you dripping, needy, forced to walk out with soaked panties clinging to your skin, a secret reminder of him for the rest of the night.
His mouth claimed yours again, deeper this time, tongue mimicking what he wanted to do lower. His fingers pressed gently, circling your clit through the thin cotton, slow and deliberate.
"Come on, baby," he murmured, "let me make you soak these."
It was working—gods, was it working. Heat built under his touch, your body asking for more as slickness gathered.
Still you tried to push his hand away, glancing at the door.
"Percy, stop—the door could open any second. Luke's out there. We can't—fuck." But your hips bucked, chasing his fingers, and he chuckled, slipping a finger inside your panties to stroke your bare slit, teasing your entrance without pushing in.
"You're getting there," he sighed, free hand kneading your ass while his mouth trailed to your neck, sucking a hickie. "So so sooo pretty and sexy..."
His thumb found your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you moaning softly, the sound swallowed by more kisses. Your panties were damp, the fabric sticking to you, and Percy's fingers delved deeper, two slipping just inside, curling.
You were lost in it, the world narrowing to his touch, the slick sounds barely audible over your shared breaths. Gods, you could come like this, right on the edge, his fingers delving deeper, curling just so—
The door flew open with a bang, light flooding the closet like a spotlight on a crime scene. You both froze, Percy's hand still buried under your skirt, your lips swollen and lipstick-smeared.
Percy's face was a mess—your red lipstick streaked across his cheeks and mouth, his hair tousled from your hands, eyes wide but sparkling with that post-kiss giddiness. He didn't pull away immediately, just flashed a big, dizzy smile, like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and couldn't care less.
You yanked your skirt down, heart slamming, smudged lipstick burning on your face.
Luke stood there, eyes narrowing into slits of pure fury, his death stare fixed on Percy like he was imagining a thousand ways to skewer him.
you wear lipstick and jason kisses you and you feel all accomplished bc you think he doesn't know you're wearing it, but he does and he kisses you anyway to intentionally smear it bc he knows that the sight of your bright red lipstick on his mouth would make you giggle <333
jason is the type of person to literally smile like an idiot in the middle of an argument (when he's angry himself) because his mind can only focus on how good you look while you're angry.
hey twin i guess i should start this off by saying im literally obsessed with how you write the pjo boys (especially percy) and i would loooove to see you bring these to life.
no pressure at all but these ideas have been stuck in my head and i thought you might like them!!
okay so percy has a high sex drive (duh) but i think he gets especially turned on by watching reader spar/train. something about it just gets him going fs. especially if your shirt rides up a little and he catches a peek of your waist. oh boy you’re cooked. he has to sit on the sidelines acting like he’s not planning out ways to fuck you.
orrrr you guys are on the beach and once again he can’t get enough of the sight of you in a little bikini and the waves starts acting up. you can interpret that how you would like. but then once the reader notices, it takes her a minute to figure out what’s happening. however once she notices that percy is half-hard in his swim shorts, she puts the pieces together and they sneak off to his cabin.
anyways love you so much!! pleaseee tag me if you end up doing any of these 💞
percy’s fighter
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
a/n: omg love this!!! will probably do the second one at a later date but hehehe we love riled up percy!!! - also kind of ignore all percy’s swearing lolz, when rick mentioned oercy swearing once, i made it an entire hc, now in my head, this dam boy curses like a sailor
˚｡･─౨♡ৎ─･｡ﾟ
wow.
was the word- along with various expletives- percy could think of as he watched his girl spar with one of her friends.
you parried and your shirt rode up, revealing a strip of damp skin from sweat. you lunged and you made a grunt sort of sound, prompting percy’s jeans to tighten.
oh jesus fuck. percy was done for.
he watched the way you dominated the sparring match. well… that and the way every move you made inadvertently fueled his fantasies of bending you over right there. you panted and bit your lip and all percy could think about was how good those pretty lips would look wrapped around his-
“perce!” you jogged over to him with an innocent, bright smile. “did you see that? i won again!” you giggled as you picked up your water bottle.
“yeah, baby, i did.” he chuckled as he watched you, trying to adjust his jeans as he watched your entire body. “you did real good. well done.”
i smiled wider and brighter at that, sipping your drink as your other hand cards through his hair briefly. “thanks- oh-” you gasped when you accidentally spilt you water down your chest.
percy had to avert his gaze and stifle a groan as he saw the way the wet fabric of your shirt clung to your skin.
“aw crap.” you mumbled with a sigh. “that’s annoying.” you muttered as you tugged at your shirt.
percy cleared his throat, a blush appearing on his cheeks. “c’mon.” he took your hand a little too firmly as he led you to his cabin.
“perce, my cabins that way. my spare shirts are in my cabin.” you tilted your head as you walked with him.
“yep. but my cabins closer and i need you out of those damn clothes.” he groaned as he led you through the door of cabin 3 and shut it behind the both of you.
“eh?” you raised a brow. you certainly weren’t expecting this.
but before you could say another word, your shirt was being taken off and you were obliging.
then his lips were crushed against yours as percy tangled a hand in your hair, angling your head, as his other arm banded around yours waist.
“mm!” you make a surprised sound but quickly reciprocate, your own hands coming up to his neck and hair as your bra clad chest pressed flush against percy’s clothed chest.
“fuck, babe- i was fucking half hard by the time you were on your second match-” he muttered against your mouth. (you had 5 sparring matches.) “so hard i was in pain when you won your last one- you did so fuckin’ good-” he groaned in praise.
“hmm…” you responded as you tugged on his shirt. feeling him smirk against your lips.
“hm? yeah, babe?” he grinned as the husky words escaped his mouth and his shirt was alongside yours on the floor.
“hah-” you breathed as he tugged you against his chest, skin to skin. then his open mouth was on yours as you both desperately stumbled toward his bed.
percy slotted himself between your thighs, strained denim pressed against your panties beneath your skirt. “this alright-?” percy rocked his hips to yours as he attached his lips to your jaw.
“uh-huh,” your hands found his hair as your hips found a rhythm together. the sounds of fabric against fabric and heavy breathing reverberated around the cabin.
“fuck, baby- ngh-” percy pulled away to pant and flip up your skirt, pulling off your panties, tossing them. “gods- you’re so hot-”
“mm-” you whined as you parted your legs further and your boyfriend reached into his nightstand to produce a condom.
you helped him out by deftly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. “hurry up-” you rolled your hips up into his as you tugged down on the denim.
“christ, i’m going as fast as i can, sweet girl.” percy muttered as he rolled on the condom and slowly teased your entrance.
“perce!” you whined at the slow motion of him pressing against you.
he chuckled and slowly began to slide into you. “you got it, babe.” gently settling inside of you and allowing you to adjust despite yours and his desperation.
you sucked in a breathe at the feeling of him so big inside of you. “keep going.” you shifted beneath him to angle yourself better.
“fuckkk…” percy watched as you moved in awe. “yeah. yeah, i gotcha.” he began to move, cradling a hip in one hand as the other slides up the back of your thigh to behind you knee, pushing it back to access deeper.
“oh-” you gasped as he hit that deeper spot. “mhm-” you nodded as your hands clawed at his waist.
“yeah? like that?” percy murmured, studying every little expression of yours, determined to make you feel good.
“yeah-”
with that, both of percy’s hands were on the backs of your knees to push them up to your chest.
“ah- yeah-” you nodded as you bit your lip.
“oh, fuck, baby-” percy sped up as he watched your expression contort in pleasure. he moved faster and harder as he watched the sounds slip from your lips and the way you bit your lip.
you whined and panted, vocal as usual- almost as vocal as percy was with all his grunting and whimpering- as his skin hit yours.
you nodded as your back arched and he could feel your climax approaching. knowing your body better than anyone, he reached down to press a palm on your lower abdomen to feel him deeper.
“percy- perce-!” you cried as you shook and your brows furrowed in pleasure. gripping his hair as you came.
“fuck- sweet girl-” percy half groaned, half whimpered when you tugged on his hair, that little yank totally finishing him off as he trembled right alongside you.
you both panted as you clutched at each other. both rolling into your usual position post coital. your limbs tangled and your head on his chest.
Characters: Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan, Jason Grace, Leo Valdez, Frank Zhang, Reader (fem. pronouns, afab)
Pairings: {Percy Jackson/Luke Castellan/Jason Grace/Leo Valdez/Frank Zhang} x fem!reader
Summary: Wishing you all a happy Valentine's Day from the guys at Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter ;)
Warnings: NSFW 18+, cursing ?, alcohol consumption, p in v, fingering (fem. receiving), oral (fem. & masc. receiving), jason grace is whipped for reader, leo is a needy kinda guy, i also didn't mean to do this but they like all get the reader jewelry ?? i didn't mean for that to happen but i fear that's just how the cookie has crumbled, NOT PROOF-READ MY GRAMMAR SUCKS, pls let me know if there is something that i missed!!
Word Count: 4.7k (~950 per/guy)
Liv Yaps: okay... so... idk idk idk !!! thank u sm to @vicariousandvain and to @trflgar bc lowkey u two motivated me to actually get this done and have it posted for valentines day instead of after valentines day haha. the idea was for it to be small little blurbs, like three paragraphs each... that is not what happened and it's too late for me to make all separate posts. i fear that i was rushing with leo and frank so their's are a bit short... and i also has such a hard time writing for everyone except luke and jason so yeah... enjoy !! and tbh i pulled that whole divine locating necklace bit out of my ass but like... i want that, can someone make that for me pls. all of these fics are made possible to the vitamin string quartet's covers of fall out boy, paramore, and mcr... that's the only reason that this posts exist i think
Percy Jackson has a plan for Valentine’s Day, or at least he had a plan for Valentine’s Day. He really did, he would swear on the River Styx if you asked him. If you had asked him on February thirteenth what his plans for Valentine’s Day were, he would have given you a breakdown of the plan that he had been constructing since the beginning of the month. He would have told you that he had made reservations, that he had flowers being delivered, that he just had to seal the card before you woke up that morning, that was the only thing that he left until the last minute.
Percy Jackson had made reservations at that breakfast place you always wanted to go to. The place that opened at six in the morning and was closed by two in the afternoon. It was the place the two of you would pass by all the time, just after it closed. So, of course, that’s where he made the reservations for Valentine’s Day, for 8:45 am sharp. He would stay at your place to make sure that you were up in time to get there for the reservation. There was a very specifickind of Belgian waffle dish that he knew you had been staring at on their online menu for months. Who was he to deny you?
Percy Jackson sets an alarm at 6:45 in the morning on Valentine’s Day. It wakes him up so fast that he got whiplash. You didn’t budge, which was fair, considering you didn’t know about the breakfast reservations. And when he tried to wake you oh so gently, all you did was scrunch your face up and nuzzle into him like a cat trying to find the warmth of a sunbeam. It made his heart skip a few too many beats to not be considered concerning. And then you started to press your lips into the hollow of his collarbone.
Percy Jackson ends up getting distracted. That distraction results in you on your elbows and knees, propping your ass up for him while you whined into the pillows. It really wasn't his fault, but now Percy was on top of you, his chest pressing into your back, keeping you close to the blankets, keeping your cheek smushed against your pillow. One of his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you at the perfect height for him to keep railing into you, to keep making those pathetic, little noises leave your mouth when you try to whine his name. His other arm wraps around your neck, letting your chin sit in the crook of his elbow, the way he always does when he wants to feel you flutter around him.
Percy Jackson hauls you up to your knees when he feels that you’re close. He likes when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, when you fall apart so deliciously that he has to hold you up himself. “Yeah? Y’like that, pretty girl? Hm?” Was all you could catch as he rambled into your ear, he was saying more, he was always saying more, but everything was already starting to feel so staticky and that was when he laughed, a small, satisfied chuckle as you fell apart, your thighs shaking and your fingernails scratching at the bicep that was curled around your neck, keeping you upright against his chest as his hips finally stuttered and he unraveled inside of you.
Percy Jackson makes sure to kiss all the way up and down the curve of your neck, your shoulder, down your spine. He makes sure to rub the little spasms out of your thighs before he blinks at you with wide eyes and goes “Uh—I might have lost track of time…” before he tells you about how he may or may not have made a reservation for an hour ago. And how he was supposed to finish signing the card that he got you while you were supposed to be getting all made up to go to breakfast. It just makes you laugh into the covers, swatting at his shoulder before planting a kiss on his forehead.
Percy Jackson decides to just make you pancakes in your kitchen. By the time that you shuffle out of your bedroom and into the kitchen, he’s already made the batter with blueberries, of course. He tries to make them into heart shapes. Some of them end up looking like hearts, some of them look more like the idea of a heart, or closer to the anatomically correct version of a heart. The two of you giggle over pancakes for brunch and spend the rest of the day glued to each other’s sides. He even asks to watch that cheesy romcom that came out months ago, which he thought was too Hallmark.
Luke Castellan was never very much of a traditional man when it came to most things. He liked taking the path least traveled—he liked the unconventional, but never when it came to you. And especially on Valentine’s Day. On Valentine’s Day, he made sure that you woke up with a fresh bouquet on your nightstand and a card with his small, scrawling handwriting—rambling on about how lucky he is to have you, how he cherishes you, how he can’t wait to see you in that new set you hinted at a few weeks ago.
Luke Castellan picks you up on the dot, exactly the time he said he would, when he drives the two of you to dinner. He takes you to a very nice restaurant, the kind that’s in one of those hotels that you’ve only ever passed by. It’s the kind of hotel that politicians stay in, the kind that the wealthy stay in, the kind with a restaurant that has stars or something that he mentioned on the way inside.
Luke Castellan makes sure that you get at least one of those colorful drinks that are so sugary you don’t notice how drunk you are until you have to excuse yourself to use the restroom. He makes sure that you stay toeing that fine line between being tipsy and being drunk so your face flushes beneath your makeup, so you giggle a bit more at his not-that-funny jokes. That’s when he pulls out the long, thin, velvet box. He got you a necklace with his initial on it, and it matches all of the other jewelry that you were wearing, so of course, you asked him to put it on you right then.
Luke Castellan pays the bill while you’re too busy squealing in excitement over your perfect new necklace. He helps you up from the table—ever the gentleman, even after one too many glasses of gin and tonic—to lean over and whisper into your ear a quiet “I got us a room for the night,” while leading you towards the elevator with the keycard in his pocket. You can hear the way his lips curl up in a smile. You just had to lean on him in the elevator, nuzzling into him, leaving lipstick stains on the collar of his nice shirt.
Luke Castellan ends the night with your legs hooked over his shoulders, folding you in half like a paper doll. It’s drunken, and it’s sloppy, but it's Luke. One hand pressing on the back of your thigh, just above your knee, opening you up wider for him until you feel the muscles in your leg start to burn. The other hand fists your hair, knotting itself at the base of your skull so that no matter how stretched out you feel, how far your eyes roll back into the back of your head, how many times you whine out to Luke that “’s too much—too fuckin’ good” like you can’t decide if you want him to keep going or to stop, no matter what, he gets to see you.
Luke Castellan gets to see how you fall apart for him, how spectacular you sound when you start babbling after you fall apart around him a second time and he doesn’t stop because it always works when he whispers “Don’t worry, baby—right here, pretty girl, ‘m right here,” into your neck between each bruise he sucks onto your neck, your breasts, your jaw. He gets to go from making almost inhumane noises that make their way out from the back of his throat each time you clench around him to whining into the valley of your breasts when he finally finishes inside—filling you with hot, thick ropes of white while he mumbles little praises into your skin
Luke Castellan makes sure that he brought your softest pair of pajamas for you when he’s finally finished with you. Only after he helps you into the bath, of course, since he definitely got a little too overexcited and bent your leg up a little too far. The hotel room has a nice bathroom with pretty tiles, soft towels, and soaps that smell better than most perfumes you’ve ever tried. He clings to you in the bath, and while both of you get ready for bed. He sighs out contently when you’re both finally in the plush bed, engulfed in hotel blankets. He tucks you against his chest so that his chin can hook over the crook of your shoulder, so he can whisper “g’night, babe,” right into your ear.
Jason Grace agonizes over Valentine’s Day. He goes to Piper for advice because she’s a daughter of Aphrodite, but she just laughs at him and tells him to watch some romcoms. He does, and that gives him some sort of idea of what to do for you. He isn’t used to seeing couples celebrate anything, really. He tells you to come over to his apartment for a little surprise, for something small and informal. He would rather have spent the whole day with you, spent every waking moment with his hand glued to yours and your hips practically attached, but he had to set up.
Jason Grace doesn’t necessarily make it a big event. He’s never been a fan of making a big deal out of things, and neither are you. He makes Valentine’s Day with you a small, intimate thing—a sweet little something wrapped in tenderness and infused with compassion. You come around to his apartment in the late afternoon, and he has it all set up. He got little paper lanterns and spent the whole day cutting out paper hearts to tape up on the usually plain walls of the main room. He almost lit tea lights, but then didn’t because he thought it would be too much of a fire hazard.
Jason Grace makes your favorite for an early dinner. He made the recipe four times this past week so that it would be perfect when you actually came over. It wasn’t, but he looked so nervous when he set the plate down in front of you that you didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was overcooked. It didn’t matter, though, because with the plate of food came a card that he made himself. It was small and purple with little pink hearts that he cut out from construction paper. On the inside, he went on and on about how he never thought that he would be lucky enough to have someone like you, to have someone who cared enough to stay with him the way that you did. The bouquet was small and tasteful—it had him rambling through some explanation about what certain flowers meant when they were certain colors, and soon enough, the two of you were going back and forth with anecdotes from your day, and you laughed so hard you almost choked on your food.
Jason Grace uses that as an excuse to give you his real present. It’s a dainty chain bracelet with a small charm that jingled just a little bit when he fastened it around your wrist. The charm was flat and had numbers stamped on it that he explained were the latitude and longitude of your first date. It was the place where he had brought you to have a picnic with whatever food he could find that you had ever mentioned liking before. He got your favorite crackers, a cheese that you mentioned once, and then prayed to his father that you would like the rest of what he had gotten. It was your first ever date together, and he immortalized it in finery that matched the rest of your jewelry. You loved it.
Jason Grace ends up loving the present that he got you more than you do. Mostly because of how it looks glistening in the low light of his bedroom when you ride him that night. He almost succumbed to temptation and let it happen on the couch—but the blinds were open, and besides, he has a plan. So he murmurs a quick “jus’ gimme a second—” while he hauls you up, letting your legs wrap around his waist, while he carries you to his bed. It was Valentine’s Day, and he wasn’t going to let you fuck him in his living room. He has standards, thank you very much.
Jason Grace acts as if all of his brain cells died at the same time when you asked him if he liked the set he found when he took off your clothes—you picked this set out because it was the same color blue as his eyes—which gave you an opening to get on top of him. He let you, of course—he would let you do anything. You wrapped your arms around his neck, propping your elbows up on his shoulders while his own hands gripped your waist to help you move. It doesn't take long for your pace to turn brutal, for his words to start slurring together while you grind your hips against his, while you whisper “mhm, don’t worry, Jase—you’re doin’ so good,” into his ear just to hear him groan into your skin and feel his hips jerk up into yours at the praise.
Jason Grace buries his face between your tits, pressing kiss after kiss into your skin where the blue lace met your flushed chest, whining punched out little “love you—fuck—you’re perfect, s’perfect,” every time you sank back down on him. When you lean back just enough to take your chest away from his face, just to push your hair out of your face, he whimpers in protest. But that doesn't stop the way his pupils dilate when he sees the bracelet he gifted to you catch the light of his bedroom, it doesn't stop the way that he was still able to hear the small tinkling of the charm as you ran your hand through your hair, pushing the strands off your sweat-slicked skin.
Jason Grace melts into a puddle by the time the two of you were done. His face flushed like he just finished running up five flights of stairs, and his hands were trembling like he just finished sparring for the first time. All he can muster out in response to your “all right, Jase?” is a shaking sigh and a nod into your collarbone. It makes a giggle bubble up, out of your mouth, and you cup his face with your hands so you can press a sweet little kiss to the scar above his lip. He just looks up at you with half-lidded, glazed-over eyes as if he were about to start crying. He tucks you closer to him and wraps himself around you, blinking up at you like he was a slow loris and you were his favorite tree branch.
Jason Grace asks you to give him the BE-FAST test because he isn’t entirely sure he didn’t have a stroke while you fucked him. It’s obvious that he didn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from not letting you leave his bed just yet. You’re still warm and soft, and you smell just like your perfume mixed perfectly with him. He can’t stop pressing kiss after kiss to the bottom of your jaw, to your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast—anywhere he could reach. The second that both of you catch your breath, and he's convinced himself that he didn't have a stroke, he asks if you wanna do that again.
Leo Valdez has been asking you to be his Valentine since February first. At first, in all honesty, it seemed like a joke—like he was just trying to get a rise out of you, like it was a bit that he was trying to double down on. He asked you the moment that he saw you on February first. He rushed the words out, too, so instead of “Will you be my Valentine?” It sounded more like a recording being sped up to make it sound like cartoon animals.
Leo Valdez keeps asking you to be his Valentine until you say yes. And you don’t say yes until the last minute. You don’t say yes until February twelfth. The moment that you said yes, he practically bolted away from you, like the two of you were magnets with the same poles facing each other. He quite literally ran away from you. But he was running towards his workbench. He listened to everything you said, the gossip that you whispered to Piper, the complaints you mumbled under your breath when you thought that no one could hear you. Especially those.
Leo Valdez loves to be useful, specifically to you. So, you might be wondering what Leo was so eager to get back to at his workbench? Ever the strategist and romantic, he made you a divine locating necklace. He had heard you grumbling about losing your phone, your favorite bracelet, the patterned scrunchie that your cousin gave to you three summers ago, enough times to know that you needed it. And he made the pendant to be the exact shade of your favorite nail polish color. All you would have to do is close your hand over the pendant and speak outloud whatever it is you’ve been trying to find, but can’t. It’s the kind of metal that doesn’t tarnish and won’t turn your skin green—so that way you don’t have to take it off, and you’ll never lose it.
Leo Valdez keeps the actual date part pretty simple. A dinner that he knows you’ll like, and cheesy music that he knows that he likes, and you scrunch your face up with second-hand embarrassment. He did that on purpose because he loves that face you make, he loves the way that your eyes get a little brighter, the way your nose crinkles, and your lips turn up like you just heard the worst joke to ever exist, but you’re trying to be super polite about it.
Leo Valdez has a goal of kissing that scrunched up look off of your face by the end of the night. And he does. Just without kissing your face, that is. You know it’s coming by the way he starts to look at you across the table, eyelids blinking just a little bit slower, his teeth coming out to bite just a little at his bottom lip. He almost comes off as impatient when he asks you, “You’re done eating, right?” And practically drags you to the bed. In all honesty, you’re lucky you made it to the bed because he would have settled for staying on a dining room chair.
Leo Valdez spends much too long licking and sucking your pussy through your panties. Or at least that’s what you thought at the moment. Sure, maybe he was just a bit too excited to taste you that he couldn’t wait to pull your panties off, he already had to wait for you to eat dinner, to open your present from him, to get all the way to the bed, and to hike up the dress you wore. And, yeah, maybe the ends of his hair, that unruly mass of dark brown curls, were kind of just a little bit on fire. The tips of some of his curls were glowing with what one could only assume were embers. Neither of you noticed. Really, you could say that he had the patience of a saint when he finally did slide the ruined fabric down your thighs, peeling it away from where your pussy was soaked with his spit and you.
Leo Valdez is a wreck before he even gets you to cum on his tongue. He’s whining into you while his fingers work you open, sending vibrations up your spine, he’s twisting his wrist and curling his fingers like it’s his god-given talent, and for fuck’s sake it might actually just be. Your thighs tremble around his head, and that just eggs him on. When you choke out his name, almost a sob but not quite, almost a moan but not really. Somewhere in between. But when you do that, he can’t help but rut into the mattress, his hips moving involuntarily as he just goes faster, as he pushes his fingers in even further—relishing in the way that you squeal his name just right when you cum on his face.
Leo Valdez finishes in his boxers while you finish on his face, his hips rutting into the bed like it was you, all because of the pretty little noises you made for him. While that wasn’t necessarily a part of his plan, he was able to work with it. He held you afterwards, whispering those sweet nothings into your hair while trying to make it sound like his voice wasn’t just as shaky as yours was while he rubbed circles between your shoulderblades. The cuddling turned into one of your legs wrapped around his waist and the other tossed up, over his shoulder, but this time he was rutting into you and not the mattress.
Leo Valdez helps you into the shower afterwards. He scrubs your hair, rubs at the knotted muscles of your shoulders, and presses tender kisses to the back of your neck. His slender fingers were able to thread through your hair, putting in your usual products even more methodically than you. And by the time that you doze off, tucked against his chest, your nose buried right into his collarbone, he smiles to himself because he did kiss that scrunched up look right off your face, and you didn’t complain about the music either.
Frank Zhang thought that he had the perfect Valentine’s Day planned for the two of you. He had been thinking about it since the middle of January, after all. But that seemed to be his mistake—he was thinking about it. He kept telling himself that he should make a list, maybe write down a few dates that he could use to make sure he stayed on track and was able to get everything that he imagined without rushing. He did do that, sort of. By the beginning of February, he already had a card, a stuffed bear, and fuzzy socks. Because he was done so early, that just left him to ruminate over what he had gotten you.
Frank Zhang panic buys balloons, candy, and chocolate, Valentine’s Day themed snacks, Valentine’s Day themed crafts, if it was visible in the season section at the store, he probably at least picked it up to give it a once over. It was two days before the fourteenth when he decided to put all of the things together, and he realized it was too much. Not only was it too much, but it was also incredibly generic! Almost nothing but the card was personal. He knew better than that. He knew that he knew better than that.
Frank Zhang gets his head straight when he takes a moment to breathe, and he returns more than half of the things that he bought. He goes back to shopping, back to square one, but this time, with specifics in mind. He goes to that little jewelry store in the mall, the one that’s tucked away in the back corner on the ground floor that you always stop to peek into. It was the one with the display case of earrings that made you point and aggressively whisper at him, as if the fact that these pieces of jewelry existed should have been a state secret.
Frank Zhang walks into that jewelry store and buys you the perfect pair of earrings. The shape of them is unique enough to not look like just any pair of earrings, but not bulky enough for them to weigh down your ears, so the weight isn’t just a bit too noticeable when you wear them. The gemstones are the same colors as your eyes; that’s why he picked them. He doesn’t let the store wrap the box; he wants to do that himself. He wraps the little jewelry box for you with the prettiest paper and bows that he can find, all your favorite colors, even though Valentine’s Day tends to have its own color scheme.
Frank Zhang doesn’t return the crafts, though. When you come over, he is ready. The kitchen counter is set up to make not just pizzas, but heart-shaped pizzas, because if he can do anything, it’s stick to a theme. Your favorite romcom is already paused on the tv. The two of you make your heart-shaped pizzas while the movie plays in the background. He doesn’t mean to, but he basically gives you a speach when he hands you the jewelry box—it started off as an “I love you so much, you’re the most important person to me,” and ended eight minutes later with him talking about how the metal that the earrings were made with was hypoallergenic and the gemstones were ethically sourced.
Frank Zhang starts to flush when you start to look at him like that, like you want to take a bite out of him—even after you finished your pizza. It’s something about the way your eyes get a tad darker, your smile just a bit sharper, your laugh looser. It makes heat crawl up the back of his neck, and his pants get too tight for a special occasion that's supposed to have sentimental value. You’re the one who suggests that instead of sitting at the table, you two get comfortable on the couch. Who is he to refuse you when he feels like he’s being eaten alive by your eyes?
Frank Zhang really couldn’t help the strangled whine that fights its way out of his throat when you press your perfect, perfect lips to the tip of his cock. It was already leaking and flushed for you—it had been since you looked at him like that thirty minutes ago at the table. It was barely even a kiss, more of just a graze of your lips to the pearlescent beads that leaked from him than anything else. Just the air from your exhale had him shuddering out a shaky “you really don’t have—oh shi—” With just a gentle lick from his base to the head had him screwing his face up together and trying not to whimper.
Frank Zhang apologizes every time you gag on him. His hand goes to cover his own mouth, as if his own pleasure could somehow disturb you while you were on your knees for him. You only have to blink up at him through red-rimmed eyes and teary lashes for him to stop covering his mouth. You can tell when he’s close because his shoulders start to tremble—that’s when your own hands have to smooth down his thighs, to coax his mind to let go, to feel good about being pleasured by his girlfriend. He finishes down your throat with a noise that sounds like it’s from a wounded animal.
Frank Zhang only notices that he started crying when he hauled you back up onto his lap, and you wiped them off of his cheeks with a touch so gentle it almost threw him off balance. He isn’t offended when you rinse your mouth out with water because holy fuck—you literally just swallowed his cum, and that thought alone was enough to have him twitching against your thigh. But, he did insist that the two of you have to complete one craft together because he did buy them. The two of you make it through half of a craft and a quarter of a new romcom before he just carries you to the bed with your legs wrapped around his waist.
your lips parted as you tilted your head to the side, you watched as the veins in his arms twisted around those biceps…
his forearms,
his hands.
the hands wrapped around riptide as he practiced his swordplay. the hands you wanted wrapped around your waist, your wrists, your neck.
percy caught this- despite his obliviousness- and played into it. grunting every so often and flexing with every thrust. every nerve ending in your body lit on fire at the sight.
after some time, percy took matters into his own hands and soon you were beneath him in cabin 3. his hands groped your breasts, trailed down your waist and gripped your hips with a certain ardency as he continued to fuck you into the mattress.
you gasped as you felt his hands all over you. his strong hands. percy read you like a book and smirked.
“my hands? is that it, sweet girl?” percy groaned as his hands traveled up your rib cage, along your shoulders, and all the way up your arms to your wrists. pinning them down with that son of poseidon strength.
the room filled with lewd sounds and breathless noises as your boyfriend kept up his relentless pace pistoning into you.
“hm?” percy prompted, already knowing the answer.
“yes.” you whimpered as he restrained you. your mind filled with dirty images of his hands taking what they wanted from you. choking you. touching you. pleasing you.
“like this?” his grip on your smaller wrists tightened as he focused. “or like this?” percy then held both of your wrists in one hand, constraining them, as the fingers of his other tentatively wrap around your neck.
you gasped and your walls tightened around him.
percy let out a shaky groan. “i’ll take that as a yes.” his calloused hand tightened around your throat. not enough to cut off your air, but enough to have you aching for more.
“dirty girl.” percy mumbled with a grin. he leaned down and pressed an all too gentle for what he was doing kiss to your lips. “never knew you were so naughty.” he chuckled against your mouth in amusement.
“ah-” you moaned as your eyes fluttered shut (or rolled back- maybe both), beginning to reach your climax.
“gods, you’re so fucking beautiful…” percy pounded harder, his own face betraying his own approach to ecstasy. he clearly, too, found it incredibly attractive and sexy how much you liked his hands.
you squirmed, his grip on your wrists grew, you arched your back, he pressed the back of your head into the pillow by the neck, you cried his name, he whimpered yours.
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 :: You and Jason have been together for a few months, but he's not very good in bed. He does a lot of research to give you a mind blowing time!
Jason Grace had always been the type to overthink everything, from sword fights to the way he tied his sneakers. It wasn't that he lacked confidence— hell, he'd faced down monsters without flinching— but when it came to you, things got messy in his head.
You'd been together for months now, a whirlwind of kisses and late-night talks, but sex? That was still new territory. Jason was a virgin before you; his life was packed with quests and duties to explore much else.
And you? You were the one who'd gently pulled him into it, showing him the ropes— or rather, the sheets— on those rare nights when the world let him take a breathe.
It started simple.
The first time, in the dim glow of his cabin, you'd straddled him, guiding his hands to your hips as you sank down onto his cock. Jason's eyes had widened, his breath hitching.
He was thick— impressively so, the kind of girth that stretched you in ways that made your toes curl— but he didn't know what to do with it!
He laid there, mostly passive, letting you set the pace while he gripped the bedframe like it was his lifeline. You rode him slow at first, feeling him throb inside you, but it was all instinct for him, no rhythm and definitely no drive.
You'd come, sure, grinding against him until the pressure built and shattered, but Jason? He finished quickly, spilling outside with a groan that sounded half-apologetic. Afterward, he'd hold you close, whispering how amazing you felt, but you could see the frustration in his eyes. He wanted to be better for you.
That became the pattern.
Jason underneath, you on top, controlling the ride. He'd thrust up sometimes, tentative, his hands roaming your breasts or ass, but it was always you leading.
You didn't mind— his eagerness was endearing, and that thick dick of his filled you up just right. He even thrusted up into you with all the enthusiasm of a guy desperate to please from time to time, but it was pretty much always the same: quick, predictable, leaving you satisfied but not exactly screaming. You'd come, yeah, but he knew it wasn't fireworks for you.
Little did you know, Jason was already plotting his redemption arc !
Starting with asking Leo for a laptop without dying of embarrassment in the attempt... Anyways! Once he got it, he immediately started investigating.
It started as innocent as it could be.
One night, after you'd left his cabin with a kiss, Jason couldn't shake the frustration gnawing at him. He was built like a god— tall, broad-shouldered, with that chiseled jaw and a body honed from years of discipline in the roman legion— but in bed, he felt like a rookie fumbling the ball.
So, alone in the dim glow of his laptop, he dove in. Porn first, the kind with titles promising "mind-blowing techniques" and close-up shots of couples who looked like they were inventing new laws of physics. Then articles, forums, even a dog-eared book on anatomy he'd swiped from a roadside library box.
He watched how guys used their mouths, their hands, the way they'd build tension instead of rushing to the finish. Jason took notes while his cock hardened because he imagined practicing on you. He wanted to erase that look of polite pleasure from your face and replace it with something raw, something that made you cry of pleasure.
Now, here you were again, grinning as you tugged at the hem of your shirt.
"Missed you," you say, your voice so soft. How could Jason deny you anything?
Jason swallowed. "Pff, yeah? We saw eachother at breakfast."
He adjusted his glasses, but you were already closing the distance, your hand brushing his arm.
"But I can miss my boyfriend," your hands slided under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his abs.
And like that the clothes disappeared after some kisses.
You pushed him down gently, like always, straddling his hips. Jason's cock was already hard, thick and straining against your thigh, a detail he'd always been shy about, never knowing how to wield it beyond the basics.
You guided him inside you, sinking down slowly, and he groaned, hands gripping your waist. It was familiar: you riding him, setting the pace, your pussy clenching around his length as you ground against him. He thrusted up awkwardly at first, overthinking the angle, but the heat built anyway, your moans filling the room.
"Ah.." you breathed, rolling your hips, chasing that edge he could never quite push you over.
But tonight, something shifted. As you leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest, Jason's hands tightened—not in surrender, but in resolve.
He'd watched those videos, read the guides: how to make it about her pleasure first! His mind raced with the pressure to perform, but this time, it fueled him.
With a sudden surge, he flipped you both, his weight pinning you to the mattress. You gasped, surprised, your legs parting instinctively as he settled between them.
"Jason? What—"
He didn't answer right away, his face flushed, eyes dark with determination. Instead, he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone, then lower, tracing the curve of your breast with his tongue.
You arched, expecting him to slide back inside, but he kept going, lips trailing over your stomach, hands spreading your thighs wide.
His breath ghosted over your pussy, already slick from riding him, and your breath hitched. He'd never done this—never even hinted at it. Oral? That was unknown territory for him, just something he'd jerked off to in secret, imagining your taste but too embarrassed to ask.
"Jason, you don't have to—" But his mouth was there before you could finish, tongue flicking tentatively against your clit.
It was clumsy at first, a hesitant lap, but then he remembered the videos: circles, pressure, the flat of the tongue. He pressed in, licking a broad stripe up your folds, tasting you fully for the first time. You moaned, loud and unrestrained, your fingers threading into his blond hair.
Because, holy shit, he had never done this before. Not once in all your relationship had he gone down on you; it was always hands or his cock, quick and to the point. But now? He was doing it, actually eating you out, his inexperience showing in the way he paused to adjust, but god, it felt good.
He grew bolder, sucking your clit between his lips, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. One hand braced on your thigh, the other slid up, two fingers teasing your entrance before pushing inside. He curled them, seeking that spot he'd read about, the one that made women squirm.
You bucked against his face, the dual sensation— his tongue swirling, fingers pumping— sending sparks up your spine. "Fuck, Jason," you talked between moans, your voice breaking. "Where did you learn this?"
It was messy— his chin glistened with your arousal, his breaths coming in hot puffs against your inner thigh and his cheeks red.
"I- I read about it. Online. In those... you know." He looked up at you, vulnerable but earnest, fingers still buried deep, stroking slowly. "Am I doing it right? Does it feel good?"
You could barely form words, pleasure coiling tight in your core. Instead of answering, you grabbed the back of his head, guiding him back down firmly.
"Keep going. Don't stop." Your voice was a command wrapped in a plea, and he obeyed, diving in with renewed focus.
His tongue worked faster now, alternating flicks and sucks, while his fingers thrusted deeper, hitting that ridge inside you with each curl. The pressure was building, relentless, with your hips grinding against his mouth as he devoured you.
You'd always taken the lead before, riding him to your satisfaction, but this— him taking care of you, learning on the fly— was intoxicating. His thick fingers stretched you just right, slick with your arousal, and when he added a third, scissoring gently, you cried out, the fullness pushing you closer.
It built so fast, that orgasm, hotter and more intense than anything Jason had given you before. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets, and you shattered, whimpering his name as waves of pleasure crashed over you.
Your pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing, and he didn't let up, licking you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive and boneless.
When he finally lifted his head, lips swollen and shiny, he looked triumphant. "Was that okay?"
You pulled him up, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.
"More than okay. That was fucking incredible."
Your hand wrapped around his cock, still rock-hard and throbbing, the thick length pulsing in your grip. Precum beaded at the tip, and you stroked him slowly, intending to reward him— climb on top again, let him feel you milk him dry. But Jason shook his head, a small smile breaking through his flush.
"Not this time." He caught your wrist, gently but firmly, and pushed you back down, his body covering yours once more.
You laughed, breathless, as he positioned himself. "Bossy now?"
He didn't respond with words, just nudged the flushed, angry tip of his cock against your entrance, still sensitive from your climax.
He'd never known how to use his size before— thrusting too shallow or erratic, leaving you wanting. But now, guided by all that secret studying, he pushed in slow and deep, inch by thick inch, filling you completely.
You moaned, legs wrapping around his waist, the stretch delicious after his fingers.
He started moving, hips rolling with purpose, not the hesitant pumps from your other encounters. Each thrust kissed your cervix with that swollen tip, a deep, insistent pressure.
"God, you're so tight," he muttered, voice rough, forehead pressed to yours. He adjusted his angle, pulling back almost out before slamming in, the head of his dick dragging right over your g-spot.
You gasped, nails digging into his back, the spot-on hit sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He'd read about it, watched the diagrams— how to angle for maximum pleasure— and fuck, it worked. Every stroke targeted it, building that pressure again, faster than before.
Jason's rhythm steadied, his weight pinning you just right, hands braced on either side of your head. Sweat slicked his skin, his glasses fogging slightly as he fucked into you, harder now, the bed creaking under the force.
Your pussy gripped him like a vice, wet and hot, and he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Feels so good— you feel so good."
He was still overthinking a little—you could see it in the way his brows furrowed—but it only made him more attentive, hips snapping with precision, chasing your reactions.
When you clenched around him, he hit that spot again, relentless, the thick base of his cock grinding against your clit with each hilt-deep thrust. You were lost in it, body arching to meet him, the coil tightening impossibly fast.
"Jason— right there, don't stop."
He didn't, pounding into you with a focus that bordered on fierce, his cock stretching and filling every inch. The room filled with the slap of skin, your shared breaths ragged.
He reached down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles like he'd practiced in his mind from those videos. It was too much—the deep kisses to your cervix, the G-spot hammering, the added friction—and you shattered, orgasm crashing over you in waves, pussy spasming around his thick length.
He followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, tip pressed flush against your depths as he came. Hot spurts filled you, a creamy rush that leaked out around him.
That was also new; the coming inside thing, but you were so happy you didn't even care.
Jason collapsed half on you, both of you slick and spent, his cock twitching inside as the aftershocks rippled through.
For a moment, you just lay there, catching your breath, his head on your chest. Then he lifted up, pushing his glasses back into place with a sheepish grin.
"I... I wanted to get it right this time."
"You did more than right. That was heaven." You traced a finger along his jaw, smiling.
No more frustration or overthinking shadows. Jason Grace, the guy who'd never touched a girl before you, had leveled up. And damn if it didn't make you crave the next sex session already.
But as you drifted, sated and warm, Jason murmured against your skin, "Think I need more practice?"
You smirked, nipping his ear. "Only if you're volunteering." He laughed, the sound light, and for the first time, he didn't doubt the answer.
my library 𓏲ּ𝄢 💌 turns out it took re-listening to 1989 by taylor swift to give me writing motivation again
“how’s your sudoku going, miss einstein?”
you giggle, taking a small bite from your macaron. percy plops down on the couch beside you, sneaking his hand into your box of treats to take a macaron for himself as he gets comfy.
“very well, mr jackson. I’ve finished another.”
“my smart, sweet girl.” percy cups the side of your head opposite to him, tugging you closer to accommodate his mouth upon your forehead.
three times. once in glorification of you, a second because he can, and a third for luck.
the he leaves his arm wrapped around your shoulders casually. you fall back into your rhythm of concentration, tapping your pen to your mouth.
“there’s a six and a seven and an eight vertically… but a four, six, and three horizontally,” you declare to percy.
he takes a closer look, examining the page. it takes a minute before he realizes your mistake. he points to the third column. “here. make that a three, and move a five where the three originally was.”
“oh!” you hit yourself in the head lightly. “duh.” you go to fix your error but swiftly make sure you kiss percy on the cheek beforehand in thankfulness. “my smart, sweet boy.”
a rose blush costs your husband’s cheeks but to fail to realize it as you return your attention to your game.
silence engulfs the entirety of the living room. all comforting silence, domestic. percy fancied moments like this more than anything.
moments where all stress and anxiety would disappear from your features. where you would simply sit and enjoy your hobbies. and he could watch you all he would like because your focus is inhumane.
his gaze falls nothing short of utter adoration. you could even see it with the lights out. you could always feel it even when your mind was elsewhere. percy’s eyes were not only a vibrant green, but incredibly unsubtle.
when you call him out for staring his only response is to blame it on the fact that you’re his wife and he’s allowed to do so all he would like. you only laugh and roll your eyes.
“will you stop eating all of my macarons.” your voice breaks the silence. you reach out and bite the macaron percy has already entering his mouth.
it leaves a trail of crumbs over the couch and your lap but you’re just glad he only got a small bite while you ate the remainder.
“you are a cruel, heartless woman.”
“says the same man who calls me sweet and sexy.”
“you’re a complicated woman.”
you shrug, shoving your belongings onto the end table before throwing yourself onto percy’s lap. his hands are quick to entwine in your hair in the way you like, running through your strands. you nuzzle your face into thighs like a kitten.
“I’m ready for a nap I think.”
percy hums in agreement and alters your position. he slumps into the cushions, resting your head against his chest now. you listen to his steady heartbeat, letting it lull you to a state of relaxation.
“nap with me?”
“no,” percy says sarcastically. “I’m just lying here. but I’m going to get up and run a marathon once you’re out.”
Percy Jackson adjusted his glasses, peering at the biology textbook spread across the wobbly coffee table in his cramped off-campus apartment.
The place was filled with his obsessions: stacks of marine biology journals teetered on the kitchen counter, a half-assembled model of a coral reef sat on the windowsill, and the air smelled faintly of instant ramen and salt from that ocean cologne he always used.
He glanced at you, his girlfriend of three months, sitting cross-legged on the sagging couch beside him, your notebook balanced on the knee.
You'd been at this for hours, grinding through human anatomy for your upcoming exam, but Percy's mind kept wandering— not to the test, but to you.
"You're killing it with these diagrams, babe" he says, his voice a little too enthusiastic, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "The way the femoral artery branches—it's like a river delta, right? Just like in marine ecosystems."
He loved tying everything back to the sea; it was his thing, this nerdy passion that made his eyes light up. But underneath it all, there was also that nagging doubt.
You were his first real girlfriend, the one who'd finally looked past the awkward guy with the books and the glasses.
He still couldn't believe it sometimes, that you chose him !
Part of him wondered if it was just the grades— your biology scores had shot up since you started "studying" together... This study sessions tended to go other ways too and he felt it was your way of letting him know you were grateful or maybe your way of keeping him tied.
He shoved the thought down, focusing on the page in front of him. You smirked, catching the way his gaze flicked to your legs, where your shorts rode up just enough to distract.
"River deltas, huh? Keep going, Percy. Explain the reproductive system again. I need to nail this." You leaned in closer, your shoulder brushing his, and he felt that familiar heat coil in his gut. Desperate didn't even cover it; every touch from you made him ache, like he had to prove he was more than just the smart guy who could make you pass.
Percy cleared his throat, flipping to the chapter on female anatomy.
"Okay, so the uterus— it's this muscular powerhouse, designed for expansion. During pregnancy, it can grow from about the size of a pear to something that fills your entire abdome. The body's adaptability is insane." His words tumbled out, eager, as he gestured animatedly.
He loved this, sharing facts with you, especially when it felt like he was unveiling secrets of your own body. It made him feel connected, he was a man that knew how your body worked.
A cute guy who also knows about your period? Oh god.
You nodded, but your mind was elsewhere, tracing the line of his jaw, the way his dark hair curled messily over his forehead. Those study sessions had a way of escalating, like that time a few weeks ago when a quick review of the nervous system ended with you both tangled on this very couch, his hands shaking as he touched you.
"Show me more," you said, your voice dropping lower. "On me."
His eyes widened behind his glasses, cheeks flushing. "W-what? Like, now?"
But oops, he was already shifting closer, his hand hesitating before resting on your thigh. You guided it higher, parting your legs just enough to let him feel the warmth through your shorts.
Percy's breath hitched, that desperate whine creeping into his voice.
"We're supposed to be studying."
You laughed softly, pulling him into a kiss to shut him up for a second, but he dove right back in when you broke apart.
"The clitoris," he murmured against your lips, his fingers tracing the seam of your shorts, "it's got over ten thousand nerve endings. More concentrated than anywhere else on the body. It's— pure pleasure."
"Show-off," you whispered, nipping at his ear. But you were getting wet just from his voice, that nerdy fervor turning you on in ways you hadn't expected when you met the guy.
You tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing the lean muscles hidden under his nerdy exterior. He wasn't built like the frat guys you'd seen at parties, but there was something about him, something yours. Percy fumbled with your own shirt, his hands clumsy with want, and soon you were both stripped down, clothes scattered amid the textbooks.
As you kissed down his jaw, Percy started rambling again, his voice breathy. "The human body has over 200 bones, but they're all connected in this intricate way? Like, your pelvis— it's designed to..." He trailed off as you nipped his collarbone, but the facts kept spilling out, his brain unable to shut off even now.
You pulled back, grinning.
"Biology lesson turning you on, huh?" You slid off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. His eyes widened behind those glasses, a mix of shyness and want.
"Yeah, well... anatomy's my thing." He fumbled with his belt, but you batted his hands away, unzipping him yourself.
His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. He was average but thick, veined just right, and you loved how it twitched when you breathed on it, the sight always made your mouth water.
"Fuck," he breathed, glasses fogging slightly as you wrapped your hand around the base, stroking slow. Precum beaded at the tip, and you leaned in, licking it off with a flat swipe of your tongue.
Percy groaned, head falling back.
"You know, the frenulum here—it's the most sensitive part of the penis. It has—"
"Shut up for a second," you teased.
His nerdy rambles were part of the fun, the way he analyzed even this. You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, hollowing your cheeks. He tasted salty, musky, and you bobbed deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat.
Percy whined, high and needy, his hand fisting the couch cushion.
"Yes— Gods, you gag so prettily. I love it."
He wasn't wrong; the way he thrust shallowly, testing, made your eyes water, but the burn only heightened the ache between your legs. You gagged deliberately, humming around him, and his hips jerked, a string of curses spilling out.
"The uvula it's what triggers it, but you take it so well." He wouldn't shut up,would he? It kinda drove you wild— the mix of his submission and that know-it-all edge. You pulled off with a wet pop, saliva trailing from your lips to his cock, and spat on your chest, slicking up your tits.
"Nerd," you replied.
Bold of you because you were a lil bit dumb for his dick, the way he mixed facts with filth, how he looked at you like you were a goddamn miracle.
Pushing your tits together around his shaft, you slid him between them, the friction making him curse. You kissed the tip each time it peeked through, tongue flicking the slit. Percy watched, mesmerized, his whines turning desperate.
"Did you know the areolae change during arousal? Blood flow increases, making them darker— shit, I'm close." You sped up, tits bouncing, working him, as he finally came with a shuddering groan, ropes of cum splattering your cleavage and one streak hitting your cheek.
Warm and sticky, it dripped down your skin, you smeared it with his softening cock, nuzzling the head against your cheek like it was the most natural thing.
He panted, shy now that the high was fading. "You... you don't have to do that. It's messy."
You look up then, licking a bead of cum from your lip. "But I want to. And you're not done, Percy. You still have to fuck me." You kissed his softening length, sucking gently on the tip, and he squirmed, a blush creeping up his neck. It was this little thing— he was shy about the aftercare, but it made him hard again faster than you expected.
"Wait, really?" You stood, pushing him flat on the couch, straddling him again. His cum smeared between your tits as you ground against his half-hard cock, you weren't done.
Percy was yours to unravel, and the way he looked up at you— glasses askew, lips swollen— made you want to ruin him.
You reached down, guiding just the tip of him to your entrance, slick and ready.
"You talk too much, Percy." You sank down barely an inch, letting the head nudge inside, then pulled off, rubbing it against your clit instead.
The drag was so good— those ten thousand nerve endings he loved yapping about lighting up. He whimpered, hands gripping your thighs. "Please... the glans, it's—fuck, so swollen. You're teasing the corpus spongiosum—"
"Shut the fuck up and feel it." You ground harder, it was slick, your clit throbbing against his tip. Precum mixed with your wetness, the friction building that tight coil in your gut.
Percy's whines pitched higher, desperate, his hips straining up but you pinned him down, rough, nails digging into his chest.
He was submissive like this, letting you take charge, fucking him up just how you liked. But he was also incredible at sex to your surprise. Even whiny and nerdy, his body knew yours, every thrust and touch tuned to make you shatter.
You sank down further, taking half his length now, then pulled off again, just the tip. "Nerd," you murmured, affectionate bite in your voice. "Such a fucking nerd, but mine."
"Please," he begged, voice cracking. "I need to be inside you. You're so wet..." You relented a fraction, grinding your clit against his shaft, the slick slide building friction. He was desperate, hands gripping your thighs.
You kissed himbefore finally sinking down, taking him inch by inch until he was buried balls deep. Percy gasped, head lolling against the couch. "Oh god, your cervix... it's right there, isn't it? The way you clench—"
You rode him slow at first, rolling your hips, hands braced on his chest. "Did you know," you mocked, echoing his tone, "that riding like this hits the G-spot just right?"
He laughed breathlessly, but his hands roamed your body, thumbs circling your nipples. "Babe, you're being bad with me."
His facts were slowing, words slurring as you picked up pace, bouncing harder. You were rougher now, grinding down, chasing your peak, and he let you.
"Concentrate on fucking me, Perseus." You grabbed his wrists, pinning them above his head, leaning down to bite his neck. He arched up, meeting your thrusts, cock dragging against that spot inside you.
You reached his face, plucking his glasses off and tossing them aside. The world blurred for him, but up close, you saw his face clearly— sharp jaw, messy hair, green eyes eyes dark with lust.
"I'm lucky you wear these. If other girls saw how hot you are without the nerd vibe, I'd have competition."
Percy shook his head, voice wrecked. "But I just want you."
It was sweet, sincere, cutting through the heat.
You released his hands, and he gripped your ass, helping you ride faster. The slap of skin filled the room, your tits bouncing, his cum from earlier still sticky on them.
"Harder," you demanded, and he obeyed, thrusting up with everything he had. You were close, that pressure building, clit grinding against his pubic bone.
"Come for me," he begged, whiny and desperate. "Your pussy... it's clenching so tight. You're milking me."
You slapped his chest lightly. "Shut up."
It tipped you over— orgasm crashing through you, walls fluttering around him, soaking his cock. You cried out, rough and raw, riding it out as he watched, awed.
He followed seconds later, pulling out just in time, cum spilling across your stomach in thick ropes as you collapsed onto him, both panting, sticky and spent.
Percy wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead. "I love you... All of you."
You smiled, nuzzling his neck. "I know, nerd. And you're stuck with me."
would you be able to do some nsfw percy jackson headcanons please? 🙏🏻
۶ৎ — Percy Jackson ! Nsfw Hc
tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info
warnings: mentions of... sex, teasing, dirty talk, marks, bites, etc... (I was excited about this one)
ㅤ୨ৎ —˳ percy jackson ! reader
summary: our boyfriend percy nsfw/sex headcanons.
Percy is insatiable. Blame it on the demigod stamina, but this man can go for hours. He’s got that constant energy—lazy makeouts turn into full-blown sessions, and just when you think he’s done? He’s pulling you right back in.
Absolute menace when it comes to teasing. He’ll act all innocent, but the way his fingers ghost over your skin? The way he grins when you start squirming? Yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Water. Water. WATER. Sex with Percy is a whole damn experience because the moment he starts using his powers? You’re done for. Cool water running over your skin, tiny droplets trailing down your body as he watches, smirking? Yeah.
He gets so caught up in the moment. Percy loses himself in it—deep, messy kisses, hands gripping your waist, hips pressing against yours like he physically can’t get enough of you. His mind goes blank, all instinct, all need.
Loves it when you take control. He’s naturally dominant, but when you push him down, straddle his lap, and start moving against him? His brain short-circuits. That cocky, playful Percy? Gone. His hands grip your hips, his breath goes shaky, and suddenly, he’s at your mercy.
So vocal. Not over-the-top, but the grunts, the groans, the hitched breaths—you always know when you’re driving him crazy. And if you do something that really gets to him? You’ll get that low, breathy “fuck” that makes your entire body burn.
Backshots? His favorite. Holding your hips, thrusting deep, pressing his chest to your back and murmuring dirty little praises in your ear? He lives for it.
He’s not subtle about wanting you. If he’s in the mood? You’re gonna know it. Hands on your waist, kissing along your neck, fingers tracing along the hem of your shirt while he leans in, voice low and teasing: “You busy? Because I have a much better idea.”
Public teasing is his specialty. Hand resting just a little too high on your thigh? Whispering things that leave you hot and flustered when you know you can’t do anything about it yet? Yeah, he loves watching you squirm.
His mouth? Dangerous. Percy devours you—deep, open-mouthed kisses, sucking at your skin, biting your lower lip before pulling away just to see you gasp. And if he’s using his mouth somewhere else? Good luck.
Loves marking you up. He knows it’ll fade fast (demigod healing and all), so he makes it his mission to leave his mark—kisses along your neck, fingertips pressing into your hips, maybe even a playful bite on your shoulder that leaves you aching for more.
Percy is so damn needy. You’d think he’s the chill, go-with-the-flow type, but no—this man craves touch like it’s air. If you so much as brush against him when he’s in the mood? He’s grabbing your hips, pulling you into his lap, kissing you breathless until you forget what you were even doing.
Loves it when you struggle to take him. The way you gasp, the way your body stretches around him—it’s an ego boost like no other. He’ll kiss your temple, whisper soft praises, run his hands along your thighs, and then? He’ll thrust up just to watch you fall apart.
He’s a tease, but he’s also impatient. He’ll play his little games—light touches, soft kisses—but the moment you give in? He’s flipping you over, pinning your hands above your head, and pressing his body flush against yours with a wicked grin. You wanted him? Now you’re gonna feel all of him.
Eye contact? Mandatory. Percy wants you to look at him. Wants to see every expression, every reaction, every single moment he’s making you feel good. If you try to turn away? His fingers are gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as he murmurs, “Nah, don’t get shy on me now.”
Hair pulling gets him weak. Tug on it when he’s kissing down your body? You’ll feel his breath hitch against your skin. Tangle your fingers in it when he’s moving inside you? You’ll get a low, broken groan that makes your stomach tighten. He lives for it.
A handsy, grabby mess. His hands are always on you—your waist, your back, gripping your thighs, sliding up under your shirt while he kisses you slow. He loves the way your skin feels under his fingertips, loves the way you react when he grabs you just right.
Loves watching you come undone. He thrives on it—the way you arch under him, the way you whimper his name, the way your nails dig into his shoulders. He’ll slow down just to prolong the moment, murmuring, “C’mon, let me hear you, baby.”
Worships your body. He’s not shy about letting you know how much he loves every inch of you. Lips tracing over your stomach, hands exploring your curves, soft whispers of “So damn perfect” as he takes his time.
Loves being begged for it. Oh, he’ll give you exactly what you want—but he needs to hear you ask. Needs to hear you whisper, “Please, Percy,” in that breathy, desperate tone. He’ll smirk, thumb brushing over your lip before murmuring, “That’s all you had to say.”
He gets so into it. The moment he’s lost in you, everything else fades. His breath is ragged, his body pressed tight against yours, his voice rough when he grits out, “Fuck, you feel so good.” He doesn’t stop until he knows you’ve completely fallen apart beneath him.
When he’s close? A mess. His pace gets frantic, his grip tightens, his head buries into the crook of your neck as he groans your name. If you scratch your nails down his back? You’ll feel him shudder, hear him whisper curses against your skin before he finally lets go.
Aftercare? Almost as good as the sex itself. He’s pulling you close, kissing your forehead, whispering soft praises while he rubs gentle circles into your back. He’s still a tease, though—trailing his fingers over your sensitive skin, smirking when you squirm.
And if you so much as shift against him? Yeah. He’s already ready for another round.
author note: stormy's shitty comeback 'cause school is kiling me and y'know how this whole student life works 🤘🏻
YOU ROLLED YOUR EYES. AGAIN.
Fifth time that night.
And fifth time you wondered what life decisions had led you to this exact moment—sore, exhausted, and forced to share a bed with a boy who apparently thought "sleep" was a full-contact sport.
Thanks, Aphrodite.
You were still aching from that less-than-fun sparring session with a daughter of Ares (because of course she had something to prove), and now—now—Percy Jackson, your boyfriend, your supposed safe space, was tossing, turning, yanking the sheets like he was reenacting the Battle of Manhattan with cotton and fluff.
“Percy,” you groaned, dragging out his name like it personally offended you. It was the sixteenth complaint in ten minutes, and still, the boy had the audacity to mess with your pillow like it belonged to him.
“Hm?” he muttered, completely unfazed, still wriggling around like a restless sea otter.
You sighed. “Stop moving. My neck hurts.”
That got his attention.
He stilled. Immediately. Completely.
For a second, you actually believed it. Believed that Percy had found, somewhere deep inside that half-god brain of his, a flicker of divine decency. That maybe—maybe—he’d be considerate, gentle, respectful.
But then you remembered who you were dating.
And sure enough, even with the lights off and only the silver glow of moonlight spilling through the windows of Cabin Three, you could feel his smirk forming like a threat on his stupidly kissable lips.
“Want me to help?” he offered, voice soft and innocent—dangerously so.
You didn’t answer right away. Not because you were speechless. Because you were calculating. Suspicious.
“How exactly?” you asked, narrowing your eyes into the dark.
In response, Percy shifted closer.
One arm slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against his bare chest, the heat of him seeping through your thin summer nightgown like he’d been forged in a volcano instead of born in the sea. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling in, breathing you in like you were some kind of ocean-scented drug.
His voice dropped to a murmur. “How bad does it hurt?”
You should’ve kicked him. You should’ve.
But instead, you stayed perfectly still—tense as a bowstring—while his fingers slid beneath the silk hem of your nightgown, slowly exploring the skin of your stomach like he was mapping constellations.
“Bad enough that if you keep moving, I might kill you in your sleep,” you muttered darkly.
He laughed. Laughed. The bastard.
Soft and warm against your neck, the sound of it crawling over your skin like a shiver.
Then came the kisses.
Featherlight, maddeningly sweet, scattered along your shoulder, your jaw, your pulse point—each one making it very hard to maintain the moral high ground.
You squirmed when his hand cupped one of your breasts, thumb brushing over your nipple just right—too right.
“Percy,” you warned, but it came out more breathy than threatening. Not great.
His hand didn’t stop. If anything, it got bolder. That thumb of his? Evil.
Your mouth said no.
Your body said please.
Your brain? Somewhere on vacation.
And Percy? He knew it.
“Mmm,” he practically purred, his mouth dragging across your neck like a prayer. “You’re already warm for me. Or should I slide my other hand between your thighs just to check?”
You hissed. Not because you were mad. Because he knew what he was doing, and he was good at it. Too good.
You hated him.
(You really didn’t.)
He shifted again, just enough so you could feel every inch of him pressed against your ass—hard, hot, very interested.
This was supposed to be sleep. Just sleep. Healing. Recovery.
And now your idiot boyfriend was tempting you into another kind of cardio.
“You are the worst,” you muttered.
Percy chuckled into your skin again. “Your worst,” he corrected smugly.
Gods help you.
It was going to be a long night.
And you were definitely not going to be walking straight in the morning.
You should’ve said no.
Simple. One syllable. One word. Easy.
Instead, you let Percy keep going, like your self-control had clocked out ten minutes ago and left your dignity behind with it.
Because the moment his hand slipped lower—slow, teasing, criminally gentle—you were gone.
Gone like your patience when the Aphrodite kids gave unsolicited advice.
Gone like Percy’s towel whenever you walked by the bathroom in shorts.
You bit your lip hard when his fingers brushed against your inner thigh, featherlight, barely there. Your legs tried to clamp shut on instinct, but Percy tsked softly and gently nudged one knee aside with his own, making space for mischief.
“So tense,” he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and smug, his tone that particular kind of gentle that meant he was feeling cocky and dangerous. “Thought I was supposed to be helping…”
You choked on a sound—somewhere between a groan and a desperate laugh. “You’re helping me forget the pain by replacing it with another,” you muttered, sarcastic, though even you could hear the tremble in your voice.
He loved that.
You could feel the grin stretch across his lips right before he bit down gently on your earlobe, making your hips jerk toward his hand completely on reflex. Which—unfortunately for your pride—he noticed.
“Oh?” He chuckled darkly, pressing his palm over the heat between your thighs, cupping you through the thin fabric of your panties. “Was that a twitch of approval, or do I need to verify?”
Gods.
He was a tease.
You also really wanted to slap the smug out of him, except you were currently paralyzed by the way his fingers were dragging slow, deliberate circles over your clothed heat—light enough to frustrate, precise enough to make your spine arch like it had a mind of its own.
“Percy…” you warned, though your tone was closer to a whimper than anything intimidating.
He hummed, pleased, and finally—finally—slipped his fingers beneath your panties. Just enough to touch skin. Just enough to ruin you.
His hand was warm. His touch? Pure sin.
“You’re soaked,” he muttered against your skin, as if surprised, like it wasn’t entirely his fault. “Poor thing… all sore and still dripping for me.”
If you had any brain cells left, they all screamed in protest.
But then he slid one finger between your folds, slow and deliberate, and just like that—complete silence in the upper chamber. Nothing but static and Percy’s voice whispering against your neck.
“Still hurts?” he asked sweetly.
You turned your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, but it lost some edge when his thumb brushed your clit, and you gasped—too sharp, too honest.
He grinned like he’d won. Because he had.
“Yeah,” you breathed, almost delirious, pressing your forehead against the pillow. “Still hurts. Everywhere. Especially my pride.”
He laughed again, and you felt it vibrate against your back, his chest flush to you. “I could try kissing it better,” he offered in that voice that really should not be legal.
“You’re a menace,” you muttered, even as you rocked your hips into his hand, seeking more, begging for more without saying a word.
“Only for you.”
Another kiss, another swipe of his fingers, and suddenly, your body wasn’t so sore anymore. Not in that way.
Your mind tried to hang on to the original plan—rest, sleep, recovery—but Percy Jackson had other ideas. Warm, slow, maddeningly good ideas.
And you?
You were doomed.
Because he was the one person who knew exactly how to take you apart.
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